


Asset Transport

by emptydistractions, piglet_illustrations (thefilthiestpiglet)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (in)appropriate use of stun baton, Bloodplay, HTP, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra (Marvel), Knifeplay, M/M, POV Outsider, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, reference to past gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 23:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/piglet_illustrations
Summary: “I’ve got an idea,” Rumlow said. “Come ride with me. You fought with the big boys today. You deserve to play like one of ‘em too.”Hydra gets a little creative it comes to the asset.





	Asset Transport

**Author's Note:**

> Collaboration with [thefilthiestpiglet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/works) for the MCU 2019 Kinkbang! Please, please, _please_ read the tags and warnings before proceeding. If HTP isn't your thing, turn back now.
> 
> And if you're reading this and you specifically told me you wouldn't (you know who you are), quit it.

Jack was tired. 

Well, that was an understatement. He’d been up since dawn- possibly _yesterday’s_ dawn. He’d lost track of the time somewhere around hour eighteen of what turned out to be a thirty-six hour stakeout that ended in a particularly messy firefight. He was sweaty, and grumpy, and there was a rip in his pants at the right knee where he’d had to fling himself onto the concrete to avoid a bullet to the forehead. He frowned at the little hole marring the fabric. _Damn_. He’d just bought these last week. He sighed heavily as he slouched against the rough concrete wall behind him, far enough away from the other agents for a little privacy, but close enough that he wouldn’t get called out for being a loner.

He’d only been at this job a month and he was already exhausted with it. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; good salary, okay hours, and a chance to use some of the skills the army had taken for granted when they’d kicked him out. Sometimes it didn’t feel worth the headache, but at least it paid the bills. 

His stomach gurgled loudly. _Fuck_ , he was hungry. It seemed free food wasn’t on the list of benefits for Hydra employees. He wasn’t proud of it, but for the last hour or so, the greasy carton of leftover Chinese takeout in his fridge at home had featured heavily in his fantasies. 

“Hey!”

Jack snapped to attention, eyes darting around quickly until they found the source of the voice. He recognized the man walking towards him- Rumlow? He searched his memory, trying to remember the brief orientation he’d been given when he started. Jack squinted at the man’s face; clear skin, good jawline, bit of scruff. Yeah, definitely Rumlow. He was one of the captains. As close to the leaders of this organization as Jack supposed he’d ever get. And Jack intended to get close; nothing said job security like being in the good graces of the people in charge. “Sir,” he said stiffly. It wasn’t exactly his favorite way to be, but he’d been around long enough men to know how differently men could act when they had a little bit of authority. He just hoped Rumlow wasn’t one of those that thought of himself as God just because of a pay raise and a meaningless title.

Rumlow came to a stop in front of him. He wasn’t that old, maybe late thirties, and attractive in a rugged way, black hair cropped military-short and body kept in fighting shape. He stood with the easy posture of someone who felt completely in control, his rifle in its sling strapped casually over his back. There was something slimy about him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but hey- if he wanted to only work with people he liked, he’d never have a fucking job.

“One of the new guys. Rollins, right?” Rumlow held a hand out to shake. He was still wearing his combat gloves and the palm was dark and patchy with drying blood. Jack stared. “Oops,” Rumlow said, stripping off the glove with a grin. 

“Yes, sir,” Jack said, accepting his now ungloved hand for a firm handshake.

“Cut it out with the sir crap. Name’s Brock Rumlow.”

Jack wiped his hand surreptitiously on his pants. “Jack Rollins.”

“How long you been with Hydra?”

“A few weeks. This is my third assignment.”

Rumlow raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Well you handle yourself out there better than any newbie I ever saw. I watched you drop that fucker from two hundred yards. Beautiful.”

Jack smiled. It _had_ been a good shot, but he’d been too busy trying not to die at the time to appreciate it. “Thanks,” he said. Rumlow’s grin was unsettling. But then again, was he really that surprised? What was one more creepy fucker in a job like this? 

The distant rumbling of tires over rough asphalt perked him up. _Thank God_. He could practically taste the day old chow-mein on his tongue. He was more than ready to go home. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Rumlow said. He jerked his head toward the approaching trucks. “Come ride with me. You fought with the big boys today. You deserve to play like one of ‘em too.”

“What?” The question slipped out before he could stop it, and inwardly he cursed himself. He wanted to be in Rumlow’s good graces and questioning him probably wasn’t the best way to start out.

Rumlow ignored him anyway and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The trucks were in sight now, jerking and shuddering on the uneven ground. What he wouldn’t give for just one mission somewhere nice. Like Hawaii. Jack sighed as the trucks pulled to a stop and the chatter of the other agents fell silent as they began to file into them, each looking more relieved than the last. Three of them were standard, big blocky metal things that matched the one Jack had rode on the way in, but to his surprise Rumlow gestured him in a different direction, towards a truck nearly twice the size of the others. Jack followed behind him, mind running at a million miles a minute. What had Rumlow meant by _play_? 

Jack frowned as they approached the behemoth of a vehicle. Besides its size, it was unremarkable, the same slate-gray, unmarked surface and blacked out windows as the others. He hadn’t seen that truck when they’d left the SHIELD facility, and he hadn’t seen it at the drop-off point either, he was sure of it. 

“You coming or what, Rollins?” Rumlow had stopped a few feet from the latched set of metal doors at the back of the transport. His tone implied that his question was more a order than anything. Jack nodded, wiping his face carefully blank of any expression as he hurried after him. 

Three other agents joined them just as Jack reached the truck. _Great_ , he thought. More things to factor into the equation. Ah well, it never hurt to have more information. He recognized one of the men. Jackson, he was pretty sure- a mean motherfucker if he’d ever seen one- but the other two were new to him. 

“Jackson, Mendez, Ackert,” Rumlow said, pointing to each of them in turn, “this is Rollins. He’s new. Thought I’d invite him for a little fun.” 

Jackson nodded at him, acknowledgement that they’d met before and Mendez, who was large and dark-haired, grunted a greeting at him, while Ackert just stared. The guy was giving off some major serial-killer vibes and Jack suppressed the urge to step back. “Nice to meet you,” he said, in lieu of all the things he really wanted to stay. Rumlow was staring at him again, and Jack didn’t miss the smirk on Ackert’s face. He was really starting to question whether it wouldn’t have been a better idea to just go home with the other guys. But fuck it, he could play nice with the weirdos for an hour for the chance to get on Rumlow’s good side. Hell, if he could impress him enough it might mean more missions, and more missions meant more money. 

Jackson pulled the truck door open with a heavy screech of metal-on-metal and clambered in. Mendez and Ackert followed. Jack hesitated for just a split second- long enough for Rumlow to raise an eyebrow at him- before taking the few steps up into the back of the truck. _Just an hour. He could do an hour._

The inside of the truck of was dim, the walls the same flat, dull grey as the outside. The small strip of window that normally allowed for communication between the driver in the cab and the back had been painted over in broad strokes of black paint that had dried in drips and uneven splatters. A metal bench lined both sides, long enough to hold at least four or five fully kitted-out men. There were nothing special about it at all. Except-

Jack stopped dead at the top of the stairs, frozen at the sight in front of him. On the floor, taking up a considerable amount of space was a cage, and in the cage was a man. The cage was maybe three by five feet long and came up barely to the height of Jack’s knees. The man was completely naked, folded over on his knees and elbows to fit in the tiny space, bare feet crossed tightly behind him. His left arm was made of shining metal with a bright red star emblazoned on the shoulder. It was obvious that the cage was too small for him; his heavily muscled thighs pressed tightly against the surrounding bars, the metal digging cruelly into smooth, pale flesh. Jack’s own joints flared briefly in sympathy pain before his eyes landed on one last detail. The man was turned away from him, so Jack couldn’t see his face, but he had a full view of his ass, as tightly muscled as the rest of him. And there- so out of place that he had to convince himself of what he was seeing- a brief flash of color as the man shifted. Halfway up the steel bars there was a small metal fixture welded in place, and attached to was a large, purple plug that was settled firmly in the man’s ass.

There was a hard shove to the back of Jack’s shoulders and he stumbled forward off the top step and into the truck proper, realizing at the last second that he’d been frozen at the top of the stairs for too long. Another, softer jolt brought his brain back online and from somewhere behind him, Rumlow said, “You wanna move sometime this century, Rollins?”

“Sorry,” Jack muttered. He blinked hard, forcing his gaze up and away from the caged man. The others had already seated themselves. Jackson was in the corner closest to him, leaning back against the wall, rifle resting loosely in his lap and his feet kicked up lazily, grungy boots resting on top of the cage. Mendez was beside him looking bored, like the man in the cage was something he saw every day. Across from them sat Ackert, already deep into a small, worn paperback he’d been carrying around in his back pocket. As if he could sense Jack staring, he looked up from his book and blew him a kiss with a lecherous look on his face. Hurriedly, Jack dropped onto the bench next to Mendez. He didn’t miss the satisfied smirk that Ackert gave him as he turned back to his book. 

Rumlow strode forward, stepping lightly around the cage, and rapped his knuckles on the blacked-out window to the cab before taking his own seat next to Ackert. The silence that followed was nearly unbearable. Jack didn’t consider himself a particularly curious person. He’d learned a long time ago not to stick his nose in places that it didn’t belong, and his own sense of self-preservation had kept him alive and well more times than he could count. But this was- different. His body thrummed with the need to _know_.

He tried to stop them, but his eyes kept flickering back to the cage and the man inside it. Now that he was closer, he could see the man’s face. There was another plug fixed to the cage there, and the man’s lips stretched wide around a second plug, the same eye-smarting shade of purple as the first. Jack could see the muscles of his jaw and throat working against the intrusion and the corners of his mouth were wet with saliva. A long, dark tangle of hair fell over his eyes and down past his chin. The truck rumbled underfoot as it started to move, and the motion made the curtain of dark hair swing back, revealing smooth, pale skin and a strong nose. It was his eyes that caught Jack’s attention though- blue and beautiful and completely lifeless. They stared ahead, unseeing, and were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Jack might have assumed the man was dead. 

“Wild, huh?” From across the truck, Rumlow was smirking at him, an amused look on his face. 

“Sir?” he responded, before he could stop himself. 

“You ever heard of the asset, Rollins?”

Jack had, he was sure of it, but fuck if he could remember anything right now. He could feel eyes on him; Ackert had looked up from his book and Jackson’s hands stilled in the middle of cleaning his rifle, attention turned solely to Jack.

“Who is he?” Jack finally said.

“Not _he_ ,” Rumlow said sharply. “ _It_. You have to be a person to be a _he_.”

It was like someone else was controlling his vocal cords. “I don’t-“ Jack cut himself off as Jackson chuckled into his hand beside him.

“The asset-” Rumlow said, getting to his feet. From that position he positively towered over everyone else. The cage looked small at his feet. “-is Hydra’s secret weapon.” There was no movement from the man as they discussed him like he wasn’t even there. “It’s no more a person than this gun.” He pulled his sidearm from the small holster at his back, the edge of the barrel still dark with power and gun oil. He kicked at the cage, and the sound of the metal in the toe of his boot hitting the bars rang loudly in the cramped interior of the truck. 

Rumlow circled the cage like a predator, and Jackson hurriedly pulled his feet to the floor before he passed. He seemed to be waiting for Jack to say something. What did he want? “Does he mind it?” 

Rumlow looked annoyed. “It,” he reminded him. 

“Does _it_ mind it?” Jack repeated, repressing the twinge of annoyance that threatened to show on his face. The word felt strange on his tongue. For all the things he done in his life, he’d never referred to a living, breathing human being as _it_ before. 

Rumlow chuckled at his question. It was a cruel sound. He gestured with the pistol as he answered. “Does a gun mind being put in its case? It’s a _weapon_ , Rollins. Hydra’s perfect, brainless puppet.

Jack was surprised at how much he _wasn’t_ surprised. A person made into a puppet? Yeah, that seemed right up Hydra’s alley. Suddenly, the floor of the truck pitched as it ran over a pothole, making the entire vehicle shudder. He watched in fascination as every bump and ditch in the road shifted the plugs in the assets mouth and ass. As Jack watched, the truck took a sharp turn, and for just a second he saw something- flared nostrils and the briefest widening of the eyes as the asset’s body was pushed back and forth between the unyielding metal and silicone. 

“Why all this?” Jack said, waving his hand to indicate the elaborate setup.

Rumlow stopped pacing, one foot on the cage as it rocked back and forth in the moving vehicle. “It’s interesting right? Pierce designed it. He’s a twisted old fuck, but at least he’s creative.” That name was one Jack recognized instantly, though he’d never even seen him. Did Rumlow have a direct line? This might be an even better opportunity than he’d thought. “And,” Rumlow continued, “there were a few… problems with asset transport in the past. The techs weren’t too crazy about the condition it was getting sent back in. Pierce thought the cage might, uh- limit the damage.” He smiled wide. “Command’s not totally unreasonable though. We can still have a little fun before they stick it back in the freezer. Besides,” his voice was a dangerous purr deep in his throat as he knelt down, eye to eye with the asset, “it did such a good job today. I think it deserves a reward.”

Jack frowned. “Why was he- _it_ \- there?” he asked. It had been bothering him since Rumlow had explained who he was. If Hydra had a secret weapon, then why the hell were they sending men out to get shot at, if not for the fun of it. “Distraction?”

Rumlow snorted in amusement. “More like _we_ were the distraction for whatever top secret mission they sent it out for.” He must have caught sight of something on Jack’s face, because he rolled his eyes and continued. “Get used to it. Hydra never tells anyone jack shit if they don’t have to.”

The entire time Rumlow had been talking his hands had been fiddling with the contraption at the front of the cage. Finally, his fingers stilled the and whatever had been holding the plug in the asset’s mouth steady came loose. A muscle twitched in the asset’s cheek, but he didn’t move, didn’t even attempt to soothe what must surely be an aching jaw by now. All he did was stare straight ahead, expressionless and blinking at such regular intervals it made him seem eerily unhuman. 

After a moment of silence, Rumlow made a noise of dissatisfaction. “Spit it out, dumbass,” he growled. The asset reacted to the command, but not the insult. The plug, wet with saliva, dropped from his mouth to the floor of the cage with a dull thud. “Open,” Rumlow said next, and again the asset obeyed almost instantly, opening his mouth wide. From where he sat, Jack could see the muscle at the hinge of jaw spasming from overuse. “Wider,” Rumlow said, and not even the asset’s quick reaction time was enough. “Are you fucking deaf?” Rumlow said impatiently. “I said _wider_. Here, let me help you out with that.”

Without ceremony, he shoved the barrel of the pistol directly into the asset’s mouth. The sound of metal scraping over teeth made Jack’s hair stand on end as the barrel of the gun disappeared pushed deep into his throat. The force of it tore at the asset’s lower lip and the dry, chapped skin split. Gun oil smeared over the cut and Jack flinched. It must sting like hell. Finally Rumlow stopped, the gun shoved in almost to the grip as tears began to form at the corners of the assets eyes, an involuntary reaction to the hard metal bumping up against the back of his throat. 

Ackert’s book was shoved to the side, forgotten, as he sat forward in his seat, a gleeful glint in his eyes. Mendez had the same kind of faux bland, unreadable expression on his face that Jack recognized from his own repertoire, and Jackson just looked bored, though Jack noted he had yet to return to cleaning his gun. One way or another, they were all there for the show.

“You like that?” Rumlow cooed in a sickly-sweet, mocking voice. “I think you love it.” Ackert laughed like Rumlow had told a hilarious joke, and Jack joined in half-heartedly. Better not to stand out in this particular crowd. 

Jackson, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as amused. “Come on,” he said, sounding as whiny as a fully-grown man was capable of sounding. “It’s a short drive today. Can’t we just get on with it?”

“Yeah,” Mendez cut in, “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Rumlow responded. It was meant for the men, but his eyes never left the asset. He was leaned in as close as he could be, their faces separated only by the metal bars and the butt of the gun. Rumlow twisted his wrist and the asset gagged on the metal in his throat. A tear formed at the corner of one eye, and then the other, the weight of them eventually causing them to trail down the asset’s cheek. He almost could have been crying. Jack watched, curious about where this might go next. “That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” Rumlow said. “At least give the poor thing a chance to warm up.”

“Come on,” Ackert moaned. “Can we just get to the good stuff? It’s not like it’s not used to it.”

“No wonder Cass keeps dumpin’ you,” Mendez snickered. “Attitude like that.”

Jackson shook with laughter and even Rumlow chuckled at the dig. The whole thing had the feel of every locker room Jack had ever had the misfortune to be in. Ackert glared. “Fuck off, Mendez,” he said. “Least I can get a girl. I don’t see you fuckin’ rakin’ ‘em in.”

“If you have to pay for them it doesn’t count,” Jackson said, red in the face with mirth. Ackert flipped him the middle finger as his other hand twitched over the gun holstered at his side. 

“Shut the fuck up. You’re both fucking idiots,” Rumlow finally cut in. Ackert’s hand stilled and Mendez settled back in his seat, the disinterested mask sliding smoothly across his features once more. “And don’t worry, Ackert, no one’s paying for nothing today.” He paused and grinned down at the asset. “Except maybe it.” The asset’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as Rumlow looked pointedly at the gun. “Suck.”

It all confirmed what Jack had already expected was about to happen, but with Hydra you could never be absolutely sure. Another bump in the road, and the asset barely made a sound as it was shoved back against the plug in its ass.

“Ah, it’s no fun like this,” Ackert said, his face twisted in an ugly expression. 

“’Bout as much fun as watching paint dry,” said Jackson. 

To Jack’s surprise Rumlow didn’t tell them off at all. His gaze was still fixed on the asset’s blank eyes. The asset’s mouth and throat worked in a steady rhythm, sucking on the gun with the same intensity with which he’d obeyed all the previous orders. “Well,” Rumlow said, “you heard ‘em. They want a show. Why don’t you react a little, show us how you really feel.”

It was like a switch somewhere had been flipped. The assets eyes widened with fear, real fear, not just involuntary movement, and a whine escaped his lips, muffled by Rumlow’s gun. “That’s better,” Rumlow cooed, a twisted imitation of a parent encouraging their child. He pulled the gun free, wet and shiny from the assets mouth. “Don’t you worry,” Rumlow told him. He trailed the barrel of the gun light over the asset’s cheek, across the firm line of his jaw, and then used the tip of it to flick the assets stringy hair behind one ear. The asset shook like he was cold as Rumlow caressed his temple with the gun. “I’ll make sure you get to have some of the fun too this time.” 

Rumlow stood, dusting imaginary dirt off the knees of his black pants and reholstering his gun. “Have at,” he said. 

Before Jack could even process the words, Jackson was up and out of seat, taking over Rumlow’s spot in front of the asset. He wasted no time, shoving his arms between the bars of the cage and grabbing a fist full of the asset’s hair on either side. He pulled, forcing the asset’s head back at an impossible angle. Jack could see the sharp jut of his adam’s apple as he swallowed and the fluttery beat of pulse under the delicate skin of his neck.

“Bite me this time and I’ll knock every fuckin’ tooth outta your head one by one,” Jackson said coolly. The asset nodded his head, just the slightest movement, but it was enough apparently, because Jackson eased the grip on his hair. Jack could hear Rumlow’s quiet laughter and looked up. The captain was sprawled lazily on the opposite bench, feet kicked out and hands laced behind his head, looking for all the world like he was laid out on a beach somewhere. Only the manic look in his eyes gave him away.

“Open,” Jackson demanded. The asset hesitated, his eyes flicking quickly over to Rumlow, who nodded, before opening his mouth wide. _Interesting_. The asset obeyed commands but there was a clearly a hierarchy to them. Jack tucked the information back for safe-keeping and turned his concentration back to the scene before him. 

“About fucking time,” Jackson muttered under his breath as he fumbled to pull open his belt and unzip his pants. 

“Maybe it just doesn’t like you,” suggested Ackert with a grin.

“Or maybe Jackson’s just desperate to get his dick wet,” Mendez said, “since he ain’t gettin’ any.”

“What would you know about gettin’ any, Mendez,” Jackson shot back.

“Calm down ladies,” Rumlow said lazily, leaning back on his folded arms. “Everyone gets a turn, no need to fight.”

By then, Jackson had finished with his belt and was now pulling his swiftly hardening cock from his pants. He fed it eagerly into the asset’s mouth and wasted no time in commanding him to suck. Jack watched with interest, faint arousal stirring deep in his own gut. He pushed it down as far as he could. This was still new territory, and one wrong step could be detrimental to his ambitions. _Not the right time_ , he scolded himself. This was information gathering only. But maybe next time. 

As if utterly uninterested in the sick show in front of them, Mendez and Rumlow had struck up a conversation, while Ackert settled back into the corner with his book. Their chosen topic- the recent pay raise and who had gotten screwed and who hadn’t- was so incongruous with the wet, gagging sounds of the asset and Jackson’s occasional grunts that Jack had to bite back laughter. _Fucking Hydra_. What he wouldn’t give for some good old, uncomplicated contract killing to pay the bills. Oh well. At least he was never bored. 

The wet, slapping sounds of flesh grew louder as Jackson’s pace sped up, his breath coming quick and frantic. He had one hand gripping the top of the cage, knuckles white from the force, and the other snaked in between the bars to grip the hair at the back of the asset’s head. The asset’s lips were stretched tight over his hard length and there was frothy spittle forming at the corners of his lips. As Jack watched, some dripped down his chin and onto the floor of the cage. 

At last, with a final, vicious thrust that left the asset gagging and choking for breath, Jackson came. He was breathing hard as he pulled his spent cock free from the asset’s mouth and tucked it back into his pants. The asset coughed again, tear tracks on his cheek and his chin slick with saliva. Jackson noticed Jack staring and said, “Take a fucking picture Rollins. It’ll last longer.”

“Well at least something will,” Mendez said lazily.

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t see you winning any records over there.”

Mendez stood and shot Jackson the middle finger as they switched places; Mendez taking Jackson’s place in front of the cage and Jackson settling back into his seat. In no time at all, he had his own dick out and stuffed into the asset’s waiting mouth. The asset made a whining noise in its throat as Mendez’s dick, shorter but thicker than Jackson’s had been, pulled the split in his lip open again. 

“Shut up,” Mendez told him, and then to Rumlow, “I hate it when you let it make noise. Throws me off my rhythm.”

Across the truck, Rumlow raised an eyebrow. “And I care because?”

Mendez scowled in response and then turned back to his task, thrusting deep into the asset’s throat. 

“So,” Rumlow said, catching Jack’s eye. “What d’ya think?”

“Of this?”

“No,” Rumlow responded, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Of the fucking weather. Yes, _this_.”

Jack paused, unsure of what his answer should be. What was the right one, the one that Rumlow wanted to hear? Personally, Jack wasn’t very invested in the current situation. It was Rumlow he was here for, and the chance at maybe finally making enough money to move out of his shithole apartment. He glanced over again. Mendez was much rougher than Jackson had been. The asset’s loud retching filled the air and his face was red with effort and lack of oxygen. Saliva dripped from his chin in a long string. 

“It’s interesting,” he finally settled on.

It must have been right, because Rumlow snorted in amusement. “That’s one word for it,” he agreed. “Personally, I like to think of it as a thank you to my guys for a job well done. And you did good work out there today.” He paused and Jack watched him, waiting for the inevitable question. “You wanna take a turn?”

There was a particularly loud sputter from the asset as Mendez growled deep in his throat and sped up. Jack wondered briefly how the hell the poor guy was even breathing. _It_ , he reminded himself. He’d have to start thinking of the asset as it if he was going to be hanging around Rumlow. It was hard though, when the man in front of him had such wide and frightened eyes. 

“I think I’m good for now,” Jack said. “I’d prefer to just watch.” He winked in a way that he hoped was both nonchalant and lewd and Rumlow hooted with laughter. Truth was, Jack wasn’t sure he could get hard right now if he tried. He needed to be in control and he could honestly say he’d never felt less at someone’s mercy than right now. “What about you?” he asked Rumlow, hoping to redirect the conversation. 

Rumlow’s mouth pulled up at the corners and he stared at the asset with an intensity that could have melted steel. “Don’t worry about me. The asset and I also get some alone time before it goes back in the deep freeze.” 

It was clear that the asset had heard him. For a second- just a second- there was something in his eyes; something hurt and angry and wild all at once. There was a faint whir as the plates in his arm shifted, something almost involuntary about the movement. Jack couldn’t help but think of it as ominous. _Rumlow’s right and wrong at the same time_ , Jack thought. The asset wasn’t a person, but he didn’t seem like a puppet either. He reminded Jack more a wounded animal, backed into a corner and about to explode. He hoped he wasn’t around if it ever happened. 

There was a long, drawn out groan from Mendez as he came. At the last possible second, he’d pulled his cock from the asset’s mouth and was now coating his face with come. It landed on the asset’s cheeks, some clinging to his eyelashes and the short hairs at his temples. Smiling languidly, Mendez reached into the cage and patted the asset’s cheek, avoiding the mess he’d made. His other hand tucked his rapidly softening cock into his pants. “Thanks doll,” he said, and then stood and settled back into his seat beside Rumlow. 

“I don’t know why you insist on talking to it like that,” said Jackson. “It’s fuckin’ creepy.”

“Lighten up, it’s just a little fun,” Mendez said with a grin. “You should try and pull the stick out of your ass every now and then.”

While they bickered, Ackert stood. Jack hadn’t thought he’d even been paying attention, but now his eyes zeroed in on the asset with a laser focus. Something in them made Jack’s skin crawl in a way that was justified as Ackert pulled a long, wicked looking knife from a sheath hidden somewhere on his body. He knelt down, putting himself at eye level with the asset, and held the knife up in between them. The razor-sharp blade was sticky with congealed blood and Jack wrinkled in nose in distaste. Ackert must have used the knife during the mission. 

The assets wide eyes focused on the blade as Ackert said, “So, where would you like me to start this time?” The asset let out a whimper, barely audible, and Ackert smiled even wider. The sharp edges of his canines showed in his grin and he couldn’t look more wolf-like in that moment if he had tried. Jack watched the asset tense up as Ackert started to slide the knife blade between the bars of the cage. The tried in vain to back away but there was nowhere for him to go. All he could do was force himself further and further back on the plug, but the metal around him allowed him no escape. His struggle was silent except for the asset’s faint gasps of air as his actions forced the plug deep into his ass.

The whole thing seemed to delight Ackert, who slowly pushed the knife further and further until the tip of it hovered in front of the asset’s left eye. The slightest movement and it would pierce through. “Now, which eye do you like better?” Ackert asked and only Rumlow’s voice stilled his hand.

“Ackert!” Rumlow snapped. He looked annoyed. “Come on, man, you know the techs said no more eye stuff. Not after last time. It was a fucking mess to clean up.”

Jack kept his face carefully blank. He’d have to sort out that information later. He made a mental note to find out what had happened, though it wasn’t hard to guess. 

Ackert scowled and pulled the knife back a few inches, though the asset didn’t relax with its absence. Ackert’s playful demeanor was gone. “Clean it,” he commanded the asset with a sour tone, shoving the knife back towards the assets face. The asset didn’t quite manage to get his mouth open in time and the blade tore through his top lip. The muffled cry of pain seemed to cheer Ackert up, though his expression was still stormy as he pushed the knife in further. The asset had gotten the message by then and his mouth was open as wide as he could force it. Blood dripped from his lip down his chin to join the mess of spit and come already there. 

“I want you,” Ackert growled, “to lick it clean.” He glared at Rumlow, as if daring him to challenge his words but Rumlow just shrugged. 

“Don’t look at me, man. I’m just the messenger. Do what you want, just don’t touch the eyes again.”

The assets tongue curled around the blade slowly, clearly trying to avoid the sharp edge of it, but it was a futile effort. Ackert turned the blade this way and that, and soon the blade was coated in fresh, bright red blood even as the asset licked it clean of someone else’s. A bump of the truck sent the tip of the knife stabbing into the soft pink inside of one cheek and soon there was a steady patter of blood dripping to the floor of the cage. Ackert looked as gleeful as a murderous child at Christmas. 

Beside Jack, he could hear Mendez mutter something under his breath that sounded very much like _‘fucking freak’_. Jackson snorted in laughter and Ackert ignored both of them. At some point during all of this, he had shoved his other hand down the front of his pants and was stroking himself furiously, getting off on the sight of the assets bleeding mouth. He came quickly into and his hand, and finally withdrew the knife. The assets face was blank but the relief in his eyes was palpable. As if he now couldn’t be bothered, Ackert wiped his hand off on the assets cheek, his face back to its normal expression as he returned to his seat and picked up his book again. 

“Rollins?” 

Jack looked up. Rumlow was looking back at him, one eyebrow raised in question. “You sure?”

“I’m good,” he replied, and he was. He had learned a lot from this trip about his fellow agents. Some of it might even turn out useful one day. 

“Alright.” Rumlow shrugged again and stood, stretching his arms out behind him with a satisfying pop that made Jack’s own joints ache. God, he couldn’t wait to get home and take a scalding hot shower. 

Rumlow dropped to a crouch in front of the asset, who was all but trembling by then. His mouth bled freely and his hair was dark with sweat at the temples. He looked like a broken doll that someone had thrown in the garbage. “Good job,” Rumlow said and the sincerity of it was worse than a slap. “I think it should get a reward for all that hard work.” Blood trickled from the corner of one eye where the knife had nicked it as the asset watched Rumlow like a hawk. “Rollins, don’t you think it should get a reward?”

“Yes,” Jack replied, without hesitation this time. It was clear now what role Rumlow wanted him to play in this twisted little game. 

Rumlow’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Well, you heard him,” he told the asset. Then he snapped his fingers, as if struck by a sudden idea. “I know, we’ll do your favorite.” It must have meant something for the asset because he made a noise in throat that made Rumlow laugh. “I knew you’d be excited.” Rumlow stood and reached out a hand. “Mendez?”

Smiling, Mendez reached for his belt and unhooked his baton. It was the same kind that Jack wore himself, standard issue to all agents. The black baton was about the length of his forearm and thick, heavy and blunted at the ends. But the most deadly part of it was the switch at the bottom that let electricity crackle through it to stun an enemy combatant. It was a vicious thing and Jack felt his own stomach twist as Rumlow unhooked the little metal contraption from the other end of the cage.

Jack watched as Rumlow pulled the plug from the asset’s ass. He didn’t even give him a moment of reprieve before he replaced it with the baton. The assets breath was punched out of him with the sudden intrusion and Jack saw one perfect moment of crystal-clear fear in his eyes before Rumlow flipped the switch and the asset screamed. 

The sound was startling in its intensity and all the men leaned forward, fixated on the cage and the man inside. After a few agonizing seconds, Rumlow switched the baton off and the asset’s scream cut out. The only sound left was his heavy breathing and soft whimpers as spasms ran through his muscles. 

“Just like last time,” Rumlow said, as asset’s frightened eyes flicked around for the sound of his voice. “It only stops when you come.”

Rumlow turned the electricity back on and the asset cried out. Blood dripped from his teeth as his jaw clenched so hard that Jack wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the bone crack. The electricity went off again, and Jack watched as the asset panted. His eyes were squeezed shut. The pain must have been immense, but amazingly his cock was filling, becoming hard. Jack could just see the dark head of it between his legs as the asset rocked back and forth in his cage, trying to give his cock any kind of sensation he could. Rumlow turned the electricity back on and the screams started again. 

It continued like that for a while. Rumlow kept up a brutal pace with the stun baton, barely giving the asset time to catch his breath between shocks. When his eyes weren’t clenched shut, they were rolling around, terrified as the electricity coursed through him, burning and crackling. All the while, he rocked desperately back and forth, trying in vain to get himself off. 

“What’s the matter?” Rumlow chuckled. “Should I turn it up?”

The asset made a sound like a frightened animal as he shook his head. His cheeks were a mess of tears and sweat. Blood mixed with saliva had dripped down his neck and was drying there, like some sort of macabre necklace. He moved faster. Jack could see his skin darkening with bruises where he pushed against the unyielding metal bars of the cage. And then, finally, he came with a guttural moan that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Come pooled between his legs and he dropped his head. Exhausted, ragged sobs filled the interior of the truck and there was a sick, wet, popping noise as Rumlow pulled the baton from his ass and dropped it to the floor. Jack’s stomach unclenched and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Maybe the whole thing had affected him more than he’d thought.

Again, Rumlow moved so he was crouched in front of the asset. “Look at me,” he said. The asset struggled to pull his head up. His eyes were pink with burst blood vessels. “Say thank you.”

It seemed to take several seconds for the asset to remember how to work his tongue. His body still twitched with the aftershocks of the electricity. “T-thank you,” he finally managed in a hoarse voice. 

“You’re welcome,” Rumlow said, and reached in to pat his cheek before standing up. “And perfect timing,” he said grinning, as the truck pulled to a stop. The rumbling of the engine stilled and the other men started to stand, gathering their belongings and reholstering their weapons. “We’re back.”

Jack was the last off the truck, and his mind had already turned to thoughts of his bed and an early night, when Rumlow came up behind him. 

“Rollins,” he said, slapping Jack on the shoulder with a grin. “Did you have a good time?”

Jack looked around at the truck and at Rumlow standing beside him and the other men filing past as they made their way into the building. It was a spot he could get used to, standing with command, away from the rank-and-file. And this just might be the start of his way there. “Yeah,” he said with a smile of his own. “I think I did.”


End file.
